


Alike in Dignity

by sserendipity



Series: Alike in Dignity [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM (soft edition), F/M, Fluff, Lemon, Maid, Multi, NSFW, Slow Burn, Smut, and blood kinks, as the order of these tags would induce otherwise, basically all the kinks except asphyxiation, both of which i can deliver madmoiselle or monsiuer or nonbinary appropriate french address, but i feel that it's unfair to the people that legitimately want to read educational stuff about it, but mental illness is also like a major force in this story???, but you know go you if you're into that, do not proceed to collect two hundred dollars, honestly you're probably here either for Jumin boners or Jumin feels, i could collectively just call you connards, i do apologize for the inconvenience, i would just like to point out that i am not a fan of blood kinks, if that is what you were expecting please go back to start, long overarching plot, nothing matters, occasional MM references that will make you point at the computer, see i want to put "depression" or "anxiety" as a tag, sexual tension is a thing, starts off like your average erotica but then bam it stabs you in the heart, this is three dimensional i swear, this narrative however will not involve a homicide, what even are these tags, where our main characters do it while slathering each other in blood, will make you cry and regret reading fanfic tbh hopefully if i succeed, you know what fuck you i will write about blood kinks if i so desire vamp vamp motherfuckers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9485939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sserendipity/pseuds/sserendipity
Summary: You have despised Jumin Han ever since you learned his name, but after countless unfortunate events, you always seem to find yourself in his amicable presence. Will a constant state of propinquity lead you to your inevitable love, or will it fuel a dastardly plot to destroy each other?





	1. Samarra

**Author's Note:**

> *Long, informational summary*  
> Being the daughter of (we'll call this rival company "BIC" for now) the former CEO of BIC, you have always been held in high esteem. You are familiar with pride and prejudice but are not acquainted with failure, so when dishonor brushes your shoulder, you have very little options left. Your heart advises you to follow your dreams, while your mind commands you to take advantage of the situation. Though completely uncharacteristic, you therefore agree to a proposition to meet with the prestigious CEO of C&R, Jumin Han. 
> 
> More info will be revealed as we progress~~

It was certainly a preposterous proposal, yet you had taken it. Although your conscience was protesting madly, you stood stationary in the middle of the hallway, unforgiving, a sentry. Maybe a part of you was simply infuriated—not just outraged by him but by the injustice that had caused you to stoop to such a level. Then again, wasn’t it your own whims, your passion, that had driven you into this situation? With reserve you uncurled your fist.

“Miss?” a lively voice sang in your direction. “Please follow me.”

Frazzled, you blinked, jolting back to reality. Once again accustoming yourself to your surroundings, you regarded the young woman in front of you and smiled warmly.

“Yes,” you laughed lightly, politely excusing your inattentive escapade. “Thank you, Miss—Kang.” 

The previously stoic woman beamed and fondled her nametag proudly; it seemed she was pleased that you had cared to properly acknowledge her. She seemed very nice, although her appearance was a bit peculiar. Her hair had been haphazardly cut at several strange angles, as if she had been concerned her hair would be too long for work, and for some reason she had also donned a pair of fake glasses. To any simple passerby, they would not have appeared synthetic, but you peered closer, observing them to be empty metal frames. Perplexed by such an odd fashion choice, you wondered if she found them aesthetically pleasing. You considered asking her but ineffably deciding to keep your thoughts to yourself, you walked on in silence.

As you approached a pair of translucent glass doors, your companion muttered something to herself. Catching a bit of what she had said, you chuckled softly. How hypocritical of you to judge her clothing. You rolled your eyes at no one in particular and subconsciously adjusted the sunglasses perched high on your nose. 

Halting before the double doors, Miss Kang cleared her throat. “Mr. Han?” she called. 

You tensed as you recognized the voice that called in response. “Yes?” it said, mildly irritated. 

“Your 4:00 is here. You did recall you have a 4:00 appointment, am I correct?”

The air suddenly shifted. You glanced around, but no one dared comment on it.

“I do. Thank you, Assistant Kang. Please, come in.”

Miss Kang breathed a sigh of relief and turned to you apprehensively. “Good luck,” she whispered, both to you and herself.  
You nodded, your lips thinning as the doors opened. You prepared to take on another façade, one of elegance and diplomacy.

You felt Miss Kang brush your side as she left the room, the door clicking behind her. Now there was merely silence. Panic brewed in your veins, but you suppressed it, refusing to concede to a single swallow of anxiety.

He sat dignified at his desk, watching you. Neither of you spoke first, neither of you willing to relent. That dreadful feeling spread to your stomach, and you begged that he could not feel the horror that clung to your clothes and stained your skin.

A part of him was feeling merciful that day. Composing himself, he stood up and offered you a smile full of tactful discretion and empty promises. As you still stood pressed against the glass doors, you took a few steps to meet him. Immediately he stiffened, perhaps annoyed by the sound of your high heels. Your eyes narrowed, concealed by your dark lenses. Or was he aroused? The pervert.

“Finally, we meet,” he declared warmly, extending a hand, “Miss—?”

You debated giving him a fake name but quickly changed your mind. “(MC).” You finished his sentence, grasping his hand in return. “And you must be the illustrious Jumin Han.”

He hummed in affirmation. Calloused skin grazed calloused skin, and you could not help but hide your surprise. You had expected his skin to be as smooth as silk, and yet it was rough like yours. Along with your stark astonishment, your cheeks had decided to betray you, flushing a deep crimson. You supposed you had stumbled, but perhaps it had been for the better. 

A smirk flashed across his features before abruptly disintegrating. With one last squeeze, he regretfully released your hand. Broadly he gestured to the seat which lay in front of his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

You obeyed. Crossing your legs, you looked to him for more instruction, but it seemed he had none. He appeared to be waiting for something; you of course were aware. Innocently you raised your eyebrows and waited for him to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

He lost his formality with a single sigh. “And please lose that ridiculous get-up.”

“Ridiculous?” you gasped, feigning shock at his audacity. “I would hardly consider it ‘ridiculous.’”

Choosing to give him closure, you removed the head wrap, brown hair cascading down your back. You fanned it out, vainly fixing your bangs in attempts to look respectable. Then, with a deliberate slowness, you slid the sunglasses from the tips of your ears. A part of him relaxed as you made true eye contact, bits of color returning to his face. He also looked at you with what appeared to be wonder, but this was probably some sort of business tactic. The infamous Mr. Han was admiring you like a cobra assessing its prey.

The cobra must not have been aware he was facing a snake of indigo, for he continued to leer at you foolishly. You smiled coyly back, pulling a handkerchief from your trench coat pocket. 

“Shall I remove the lipstick too?” you prompted.

His eyes instantly drifted to your mouth, and you couldn’t help but press them together suggestively. You wondered if he preferred pink to a classical rouge.

“No,” he replied boldly, answering your ponderings. The corners of his lips jerked upwards. He knew what kind of game you were playing: it was the game he had planned to instigate himself. He chastised his own diffidence; it had caused you to have already moved your pawn. In spite of his disadvantage, his bishop cackled mercilessly as you blushed a second time. 

“What a momentous occasion.” He drawled. “You grace me with the honor of revealing your face for the mere signing of a partnership. The generosity of BIC and its CEO knows no bounds.”

His exaggerated elegance jabbed at your side. Although your hands shook with your mistruths, you shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yet I have the honor of meeting you, Mr. Han.” 

Purple met brown, and your cheeks fled to another paradise. “Please,” he said, “call me Jumin.”

“Ju—min,” you replied, enunciating the syllables. “Like that?”

His eyes genuinely softened, and for the first time red dusted his cheeks. “Yes, like that.”

Flustered, he coughed. Desperately he tried to regain his equilibrium, and in a matter of seconds, his pupils lost their compassion, the frivolous boyishness fleeing his marrow. Extricating a paper from some crevice of his desk, he rose and sauntered to your side of the desk. He leaned over you and slid the paper into view. There it was, the revered partnership contract. 

“I am sure you are familiar with its content?”

This was too brief. You needed more proof, but what could you possibly do?

You craned your neck to meet his gaze. Repressing the feeling of opia, you cocked your head to the side. 

“Yes, although I did have a few questions.”

“Oh?” He backed a bit away. “Like what?”

Selecting the respective areas of the parchment, you explained pointedly, “There are quite a few discrepancies and cases of ambiguity in these particular sections.”

Once again he leaned down, examining the entire document. The only sound in the room was the sound of his breath as the paper lay way to his scrutiny. You tried desperately to ignore it, but the sound of it was soothing, lulling you into a somnolent trance.

Suddenly, the melody stopped. You looked up. Momentarily, he retreated, his eyes dancing flirtatiously as your eyes met. He smiled slyly, attempting to stifle his true grin. “I’m afraid, Miss (MC), that all documents are filled with a certain ambiguity.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That cannot be remedied?”

“That are refrained from being remedied.”

Anger brewing within you, you rose to his level. “And may I ask why they would not be remedied?”

Amused, he bent down, prepared to humor you. “Perhaps I would inform you, if it were not confidential information between the CEO of BIC and the Chairman of C&R.”

You froze. He had captured your queen. 

Taken aback, you stammered, “Are you insinuating that I am not the CEO of BIC?”

“Well, I am sure you are certainly affiliated, but it is clear that you have no mind of business.”

“Excuse me?”

“This contract is purposefully missing any mention of a joint business bank account, Miss (MC). I assumed someone as refined as you would have caught that,” he chided. 

Silently, you cursed yourself. You had been sure you had covered everything in that contract; you had known every flaw like the back of your hand. Why was it that here you had faltered? You pursed your lips, braving a step closer to him. “And what if I were still to claim to be the CEO of BIC?”

His face was now inches from yours. “Perhaps I would reconsider. It seems that you haven’t degenerated into a fit of tears, and you have managed to retain your composure. Maybe every now and then insolent fools with some etiquette manage to also retain office.”

His words clung to your pride, but you refused to look away. 

“Are you familiar with ‘The Appointment in Samarra,’ Jumin?” You inquired, your lips purposefully caressing his name.

He snorted. Your foreheads were barely touching as he countered, “Are you not headed there yourself, Miss (MC)?”

“Are you not mocking me as Death would, Mr. Han?” you whispered against his lips.

“I am merely a witness,” he argued, his fingers tentatively gliding along the back of your chair.   
“Then why do you throw slander upon my name? Why do you take my title as the CEO of BIC as any sort of pretense?”

You felt his smile as he murmured, “Then sign the contract.”

There it was. So he had never doubted you were the CEO of BIC; it had been his own tapestry of manipulation. He had just been teasing you. It had all been contrived to entice you into signing the contract without thought of the loopholes. Your father had been right. No longer hesitant, you looked up at Jumin with a newfound lust in your eyes.

“Perhaps I will,” you muttered breathlessly.

You felt another smile, a smile of victory. You clicked your tongue. This duel was far from over. Absentmindedly, you tapped his tie playfully.  
“But you are correct about one thing, Jumin,” you sang.

“And what would that be, Miss (MC)?”

You leaned up to his ear, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. A small part of you felt bad that you had so deviously invaded his space, but you oppressed such useless guilt. You reminded yourself what a repulsive being he was. A hand brushed up your leg, only igniting your anger.

“I am not the CEO of BIC,” you whispered matter-of-factly.

Instantly he released you, but you backed away slowly, playing with his tie.

He clenched his jaw. “Then who are you?” he murmured threateningly. 

You placed a finger over your mouth. “Just a girl with a story to tell.” Elegantly, you bowed, concluding your performance. “It was truly an honor to meet you…Mister Han.”

Before he could respond, you swung open the glass doors. As soon as they closed, you felt a poltergeist leave your body. Pivoting, you turned to the face the doors. He still had not moved, possibly comatose in shock. Gingerly you removed the recording device from your trench coat. It sat petite in your hand, holding the end of a man’s career. You continued to stare at it, glued to where you stood. Why weren’t you moving? Why didn’t you escape while you still could?

You regarded the recording device again. Why were you having second thoughts? The grief, guilt, and panic you had been repressing finally overcame you, and you could no longer hold back your conscience. Closing your eyes, you made one final fist, crushing the small piece of technology in your hand. Discarding the residue into a potted plant nearby, you looked back at the double doors.

“Perhaps it is better if you stayed in Baghdad,” you quietly advised him.

With that you turned away and walked out of the building, already regretting and yet rejoicing what you had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was my first time writing this kind of thing. Clearly they did not do the do; I'm planning on building up to it a little. For now, bask in the multitude of sexual frustration and the ubiquitous "Is-this-an-actual-thing-a-person-would-do" touching.


	2. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes despair has the opportunity to be relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's been two months.  
> Okay also  
> *TRIGGER WARNING*  
> (MC) has something close to a panic attack in this chapter, which digresses into something more. I am not very knowledgeable on triggers, but if you tend to be sensitive to them, please use discretion when reading.
> 
> Regardless, enjoy!

“ _You did what_?” the woman hissed across the phone in a lethal whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

As if in trepidation, saliva clung tirelessly to the sides of your throat. Reluctantly you gulped it down, your hands quivering uncharacteristically and your feet moving restlessly from side to side. A certain numbness overcame you, chilling you deep within your marrow.

“I—” you hesitated, “I lost it. It must have fallen off somewhere in the streets. When I came back to my apartment, it was gone.”

An exasperated sigh emanated from the receiver. Simply from a breath you could picture the ire and disappointment etched across the woman’s features. Her lips were pursed, and her knuckles were white with contained fury. While your brain tormented you with such an image, the trembling of your fingertips only grew greater.

In rebellion, your thoughts drifted to the man for whom you had risked your entire career. The recollection of his violet eyes and ghost of a smile haunted your entire being. You remembered the way he leaned in a little too close and the way he made you blush without warning. What part of him had persuaded you to destroy the recording device yourself? Feeling your heart skip a beat, you hastily looked down at the floor.

After a long silence yielded no reply, you desperately tried to excuse your impulse. “I’m incredibly sorry,” you apologized, your regret laced with feigned contrition. “Perhaps there is some way we could remedy all of this. We could try to find some way through his father, Chairman Han. It may be much easier than attempting to play chess with the cold, corporate heir.”

The woman snorted. “There is no easier way for C&R to meet its end than to eliminate its successor from the favor of the public. Even though he may not be in charge of the entire company yet, it is certain to fall soon after him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

You felt an audible smirk from the other end. “Because an old man has the support of his son, while the son has the support of merely his irrational fears.”

A dreadful feeling intruded your stomach. Butterflies with strangely sharp wings jabbed at the corners of your tissue. You shivered at the thought of taking advantage of someone’s doubt and senselessness.

“What else can we do then?” you sighed, artfully concealing the premonition that adhered to your thoughts.

Again time stretched into a dull silence; only a soft crackling came from the other side of the phone. Minutes extended into hours, and hours extended into days. Your breath was bated with anticipation, while your hands already grieved with the answer. Finally, after much contemplation, she spoke.

“I’m afraid there is nothing else you can do,” she said definitively.

“Pardon?”

“Miss (MC), today you have displayed an enormous amount of failure,” she paused. “I have pushed you, given you the materials to succeed, and all you have done is shown me you are incapable of completing a rudimentary task.”

You did not reply.

“We cannot have someone with such a work ethic at this editorial, though it may be small, and I certainly cannot sponsor a person of your character’s unattainable dreams,” the woman continued without an ounce of comfort. “For that, I am forced to release you.”

“Nari, please,” you protested, horrified. “I tried—"

Simply trying is not enough.” Nari said. “Please Miss (MC), do not make this more difficult than it has to be. Going against my own words, you have been a major asset to _The Korean Eye_. Please do not think of yourself any less because of this. Thank you for your time among our board, Miss (MC). Goodbye.”

The phone call was concluded with a dull click. Instantly your world collapsed. Dejected, you slid to the floor, your back finding solace against the hard surface of a kitchen cabinet. Without your realization, the phone had slid out of your loose grip onto the tile beside you. For a few minutes you sat without saying a word, still in shock. Then, you felt your heart rate pick up. Your breaths came in erratic bursts, your lungs ravenous for the taste of air—though they already had a plentiful amount. The beginning of tears welled up in your eyes. They came relentlessly, scalping your cheeks and leaving the skin raw. Although you were unable to hear, a small part of your being registered that you were screaming, your vocal chords thrumming wildly.

A thousand thoughts crossed your frenzied mind. Why couldn’t you stop crying? Why were you crying in the first place? It had never been so bad before. Then again, you had never experienced something quite like this. In the span of a minute you had realized that all your aspirations, your hopes, your desires, could never be achieved. Perhaps it had been idiotic of you to dream so vividly. In the end would you not have been cast aside like this, just more battered and bruised? Happiness had seemed an arm’s length away, but now it lay in the distance, far out of reach. And the worst part was you had given it all up for him. Why him? Why someone comparable to your sworn enemy? It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair how he had received his bearings to him on a silver platter while you had rejected yours in exchange for hard work. Yet you had been the one to fall. With profanities unlike any other, you cursed your conscience, you cursed your innate want to assure his esteem, and you cursed his demeanor that had affected you in a million, incomprehensible ways. You hated him, you hated him, you hated him!

You did not know how long you had been screaming. All you noticed was that no one came to your aid. There was not a single person in the world who had heard you.

 

 

Perpetual flights in and out of the Job Center did not rally your mood. Instead, it had quite the contrary effect. It reminded you of your constant failure, of your lack of fortitude. The idea that you could not even sustain such trivial reminders discouraged you. When these thoughts occurred to you, it took all of your combined efforts to control your breathing. It took all your restraint not to crumble into a heap in the middle of the subway, assuming a fetal position. Often in these cases your stomach would rumble menacingly, reminding you that, although you no longer had any dreams to lose, food was still at your body’s disposal.

There was one such time where you were having an episode before you even got onto the train. You steadied yourself against one of the walls, pretending to have lost your balance and not to seem a fragile victim of disparagement. By chance you noticed a poster that was advertising a need for a maid in the upper class city of Seoul. Still recovering, you would have disregarded the poster if your eyes had not wandered to the surmised salary. Your eyes widened in disbelief. What kind of boastful pedant offered such a hefty price for a maid? Without much thorough thought, you ripped the poster off the wall and stuffed it into your purse.

That day you did not listen with a mixture of hope and despair to the man who assisted you at the Job Center. With a cheerful smile on his face, he would always suggest multiple career paths to you, but you would end up rejecting all of them. They would never be enough to pay rent. In these times your mind would once again flee to Jumin Han, considering a path in business. It seemed quite logical as you had the corresponding degree, but an unbridled hatred for the man always led you astray. It would also be harmful when submitting an application to have been fired from such a small editorial. Despite all these incongruities, a certain determination kept impelling you to make the fruitless journey to the Job Center.

Once another uneventful day had passed, you returned back to your apartment. The strength of the subway jostled you back and forth. At that moment you remembered the poster that had taken up residence in your bag. Unfolding it, you quickly dialed the number at the bottom of the paper.

“Hello?” a spirited, young voice answered.

“Yes, I saw your ad on the subway that said you were in need of a maid? I was wondering if you still had any openings.”

“Oh, of course! Here, give me a moment, and I can schedule an interview for you. Does March 28 sound all right?"

“Yes, that sounds fine. That’s in two days, correct?”

“Absolutely! What kind of times would you prefer? The interview would probably last about half an hour.”

“I would prefer sometime in the afternoon if you could manage.”

“Okay, in the afternoon I have 3 p.m., 3:30 p.m., 4 p.m., and 5 p.m.”

“I think 4 p.m. would be the most suitable.”

“Sounds good. Could I get a name for the appointment?”

“(MC).”

“Okay. That’s everything then. I’ll be seeing you, Miss (MC), on the 28th of March at 4 p.m.”

“Okay, great. Thank you!”

After providing the young man with your phone number in case of emergency, you hung up. It seemed incredibly fickle, but you had been instilled with a new sense of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to carry over my intended ending into its own chapter to prevent this one from being too long. Hope for another installment (maybe even today)!


	3. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For weeks, you have managed to evade Jumin Han, let alone think of him. Now, as you prepare for a hopeful job interview, you realize that the situation is not as favorable as you had previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolol remember how I said I was going to post this chapter the next day? Fun times, we've had.

A sense of foreboding encased the building, glossing the glass windows with a slight portentousness. Looming high above its neighbors, the skyscraper formed a large gash in the sky, its edges slashing through the clouds and heavens above. Simply the outside of the structure was daunting; its figure was minimalist to the point of sharp garishness. Squinting, you imagined what it would be like to wake up every morning on the very top floor, peering over all of Seoul. If this interview went beneficially, perhaps that would become a possibility.

You were breathless as the elevator lifted you above the city, hovering over shops, businesses, and people. All of them appeared as specks, their size obsolete compared to the skyscraper’s towering height. Inquisitively, you watched as the world below you became smaller and smaller. Signaling your arrival, the elevator dinged.

What beheld you was even more incredible than the view. The penthouse extended infinitely beyond your vision; it was as large—and also as lavishly decorated—as Versailles. The entirety of the living room may not have been doused in gold, but two immaculate, white couches lay next to an astonishing view of the city. On either side of the TV were fish tanks, oblong and rimmed with black paint. Their water was pure, sparkling dazzlingly in the sunlight. Exotic fish of all sorts swam to and fro, seeming to enjoy their enclosed habitat. To the left of this small parlor was a renovated kitchen. Installed with the latest technology, it was composed of beautiful white cabinets and sleek, silver handles. Next to it was a quaint dining area, placed for two. By habit you sniffed the air, catching a whiff of wine and some delicacy that smelled of breakfast.

Between the kitchen and living area was a long hallway masked by a delicate array of wood paneling. Besides two, tiny dishes resting against one of the walls, there was not much to see. From where you stood, you could spot several doors, some closed and others opened. You could only assume this was where the bedrooms resided.

A figure stood up as you entered the room, anticipating your arrival. It was a young boy of about 20. He was towheaded and gangly, his blond hair jutting out at odd, gelled angles. His eyes resembled a feline: big, bold, and an unnatural shade of lavender. At his age, the presence of a two piece suit seemed quite forced and unfitting, but you did not comment. Perhaps it was just his visage. Although it was your interview, he appeared the more nervous of the both of you. Flustered, he fumbled with his tie and smiled widely, revealing his immaculate pearly whites. Keenly, he extended a hand to you.

“Hello, you must be Miss (MC).” The boy bowed formally. “I am Yoosung Kim.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kim,” you greeted him cheerfully, infected by his warm smile.

A part of the boy’s anxious countenance seemed to disintegrate as you smiled. Hastily, he gestured to the two, black chairs that had been set up in the middle of the floor. “Please, sit.”

Gratefully, you complied. You had to admit: juxtaposed against the exorbitant pay for this job, these seats were not the most comfortable. Already you could feel your back wailing in protest.

Yoosung snorted softly, noticing the conspicuous amount of discomfort etching your features. “My apologies. My employer has thought it best if we refrain from using any of the furniture. He’s a bit mysophobic; he refuses that anyone sit on the couch besides him and Elizabeth until a proper maid can be contracted.”

 _Elizabeth_. The name was so sophisticated; it certainly fit the opulence of this place. Sympathizing, you let out a quiet chuckle. It had been second nature to say, “Yes, I know just how persnickety some managers can be,” but you hesitated. It was certainly not the truth anymore. A feeling of monachopsis overcame you, engulfing the confidence that you had exerted for this role. Your genial mood quickly surceased.

Seeming to misinterpret your insecurity as ennui, the restless Yoosung Kim clapped his hands together. “Well, then let’s begin, shall we? This should only take about 30 minutes. My employer has made sure to compile the best questions to ensure all of his needs are fulfilled.” His eyes thinned into endearing lines as he offered another reassuring smile. This time, it was also accompanied by a dull snicker. “Still an efficient man as ever, that man born with a silver spoon.”

You bit down hand on your lower lip. Surreptitiously, you traced a hand across your mouth, drawing blood. How was it that that phrase alone made your blood boil? The feeling was completely unwarranted; there was no sign of him here, no vestige to plague you with further reminder of your mistake.

Yoosung rubbed an apprehensive hand against the side of his neck. “Uh, probably not the best thing to say about your boss…Still just an intern, you see.” He pointed casually at himself and continued. “Anyways, I do apologize that my employer could not be here to interview you himself. Unfortunately, Ju—I mean, Mr. Han—has a lot of business to attend to at the office. He hopes you can understand.”

Your eyes widened. Had your ears betrayed you? Surely this wasn’t…? It couldn’t be…

“ _Mr. Han_?” you repeated, attempting to remain indifferent. It was the first thing you had said.

“Yes, yes, the very same. Jumin Han, the Executive Director of C&R.” Yoosung said, affirming it proudly.

No, you could not do this. No matter how high the salary. Was there the chance that you could contrive a sudden illness? Malaria? Vertigo? Nausea? There must be an opportunity for intercession somewhere. You looked around frantically. If need be, you could resort to jumping out the window at the very least. Did a phone call—a forgotten doctor’s appointment—seem more believable? But how would you leave without being contacted again and again and again and again? What was the proper method of completely disappearing from memory, from human consideration? You could not think. All you needed to do was escape. _Get out. Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get_ —

“Miss (MC)?” Yoosung regarded you worriedly. “Is everything okay?”

You snapped out of your confusion and adopted a disarming grin. “Yes. Sorry.”

At ease, Yoosung proceeded with the interview. In a daze you followed, only succeeding due to having previously collected answers. Despite having accumulated flawlessly-executed answers to any and all typical interview questions, you were of course confronted by inquiries that were idiosyncratic to only Jumin Han. The benefit of homemade gourmet cat food compared to that of customary store-bought food misplaced you, as well as the most effective way of cleaning and disposing of a hairball. What occupation would require you to master the art of filleting a single ounce of salmon? Did you soak white fur in cold water to remove red wine stains? Silently, you cursed this man’s name.

Yoosung seemed to empathize with your bewilderment and lack of knowledge. After you had responded to a certain question concerning veterinary care with a hesitant rhetorical one, he murmured, “It’s okay. I don’t know either.”

Part of your heart bloomed with thankfulness for this boy. It was a shame. You quite liked him.

Finally, the interview seemed to have concluded. Internally, you breathed a sigh of relief. It was not as horrid as your mind had first imagined. The temporary repose even allowed for the thought that working for the CEO of C&R may not be all that dreadful. This place’s view was indeed picturesque enough to assuage your worry.

Yet you were besieged by the knowledge that the owner of this beautiful house knew you, and you knew him. What did he think of you? Did he even remember you? The incident with the recording device had transpired weeks ago; perhaps the edge of the knife had dulled, to your good fortune. That or it was freshly whetted.

You could not help but feel that there was unspoken animosity between the two of you. Of course, you often felt this way about strangers and acquaintances, that your relationship precariously walked a tightrope and rustled ominously with the wind. Every one of your interactions had its repercussions, the rope dwindling, growing shorter and more gaunt. Whatever move you made was rivaled by an adversary, judging your compatibility—your aptitude of social capability. It made you wring your hands. It made those butterflies poke the sides of your stomach, wanting to be liberated from a place where butterflies did not belong. It made you want to stay inside. It made you believe that the boy in front of you, a boy that you had just met, secretly detested you.

Earlier, Yoosung had enquired about any affiliations or references that you had had. Briefly you had mentioned _The Korean Eye_ , your first professional job on the way to establishing a flourishing freelance career, and had later reluctantly attributed much of your success to a company with which you had strong relations, BIC.

Immediately, his eyes had widened in awe. “ _BIC_? Really?” he had reiterated, dumbfounded. “That’s quite a big deal. How’d you come around that one?”

On instinct, you had glanced at the ground. “Oh, nothing more than by chance.” Synchronizing with your embarrassment, a blush had flushed the color from your cheeks. Shamefully, you had shooed it away. You had nothing to be ashamed of. That, at least, was the truth.

“Wow!” he had cried. “Those kinds of opportunities only come once in a lifetime. Maybe you’re gifted.” He made a perfunctory squiggle on the clipboard in front of him. “Sorry, it just slipped my mind. What did you say your name was again?”

A cold hand had grabbed your throat, about to throttle. “(MC).”

Something had seemed to click in his mind. You could not decipher the exact placement of this imperceptible change, but it had dismounted upon the two of you, swallowing his congeniality whole. His affability moldered away in a heartbeat. You could have sworn his eyes, with the same anemone color, glinted with a contemptuous glare. That had been recognition, hadn’t it? Had his ears glimpsed the same rumors yours had? How had you been shamed in his recollection? Even now there was still a part of your being that wanted to grasp the hand of those in front of you, to scream that it wasn’t true in desperate cries of expostulation, but you relented. Composure, composure was more important. Despite this, you wanted to alter the look in his eyes and persuade him to think otherwise. It was such a shame. He had been very nice to you.

This was what you feared most. Strangely, it had not been like this with him. Your names had been one of the first things you exchanged, yet at that time he had not given heed to any familiarity with it. How had such a public figure as Jumin Han managed to ignore the gossip? One would have presumed his fingers had grazed the magazines with your name on them or heard your name interchanged conspiratorially between coworkers. Had he not heard of you at all? The thought was enviable but severely unlikely. On the contrary though, he had regarded you as an equal in that office. Although, he could have been distracted by your high heels and extravagant disguise. Everyone had been. You traced the curves of your palms sadly. Even if he had not been aware of your existence previously, he definitely knew you now. There was no chance that he could have held you in high praise whatsoever. You were a usurer, a mischief maker. You had swindled him, seduced him, and sauntered out of his office like it was nothing. No one could forget that and live without loathing.

Your mind wandered, erring, as Yoosung made his concluding notes. You peered out the window, mapping the longevity of the clouds. Without your discourse, the apartment was eerily silent. The only sound was a soft hum at your toes. Instinctively, you looked down once again. From some unknown nook, Elizabeth the 3rd—a being with which you had only just familiarized yourself—had emerged. Wanting attention, she rubbed up against your leg, purring. You stroked her fur, delicately trying to catch some of it between your fingertips before she padded away. You had always been quite fond of cats. They were quiet and dexterous, mysterious and lovely. In contrast to Jumin though, you had always preferred black cats.

“Well, Miss (MC), I think that about wraps it up!” Yoosung patted the clipboard on his lap.

The two of you stood, consequently bowing and shaking each other’s hands. Grinning widely, Yoosung promised that you would hear from him soon; and to appease him, you mimicked his expression. It was sad that you would not see him again. You hoped he would not be discouraged that you planned to reject any inclination he or Jumin made towards you for this job offer. After all of this, you had not been convinced you could stand to be around him for very long. You would always associate him with your failure. _It was your fault, it was your fault, it was your fault, it was your fault, it was your fault_ —

The sound of the elevator jarred you from your intrusive thoughts. He had seemingly just concluded a phone call, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. Disgruntled, he pushed past the doors of the elevator, clearly desiring and expecting to be undisturbed. Suddenly, he stopped, his gaze falling on the two of you standing in the middle of his luxurious apartment.

You made eye contact, and all the memories came flooding back as vividly as ever.

There it was, the reminder of everything you had done wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Now that's it summer, I should be able to post more. I want to start writing so I can finally get the lemon scenes going. I promise they will be worth the wait. strange unnecessary emoticon ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


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